by R.S. Grey
His brown eyes hold mine captive, and we seem to be having a silent conversation that feels so utterly important I’m scared to blink.
“I wanted you last night, Lindsey,” he admits, stepping toward me so his body blocks mine from the path of tourists.
My heart skips a beat as I wet my lips, trying to come up with a response that would make him just as uncomfortable. He doesn’t get to keep saying things that make me blush. Eventually, I’m going to fight back.
“Then why didn’t you do something about it? You said I was a good girl, but I’m not, Noah. I’m flesh and blood, impatient and needy, just like you.”
I step toward him and grab his t-shirt to wring it out, the same way he did with mine—but instead of dropping it back into place, I slide my palms up over his chiseled stomach, triumphant when I feel him flinch in surprise.
“Are you scared of hurting me?” I ask, leveling my gaze on his lips.
“I’m scared you don’t see what I’m truly after.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?”
“Something more than just casual sex in a tropical villa. More than a few nights in Mexico.”
The familiar roadblocks flit through my mind: Natalie, Connor, work.
They’re the same things I’ve worried about for so many years, the same things that have held me back from admitting my feelings for Noah since the beginning.
“What happens when—”
He steps forward so his chest brushes mine, cutting me off. He crowds my space and backs me into the tree behind me until I have nowhere to go.
“I’m saying I don’t care ‘what happens when’,” he says, lifting his hand up so his finger can trace my jaw. “There’s nothing that is going to stop me from taking what I want. Not anymore.”
His thumb drags across my bottom lip as his dark eyes narrow.
“Say no, Lindsey,” he says, lowering his head down toward me. “Say no now or—”
Before he can finish, I arch up onto my toes and seal my lips to his.
No is not an option. No was gone the moment I first laid eyes on Noah. Lindsey, this is my brother. Noah, this is Lindsey. Be nice to her!
And to his credit, he has been—so, so nice to me. Over the years I’ve known Natalie, Noah has always acted like the perfect gentleman. Waving at me when our paths cross in the halls of the hospital. Including me whenever he has Connor and Natalie over for dinner. Never crossing any lines. Never making me feel anything other than perfectly respected.
Until now.
Six
We make out pretty hardcore under that tree, so much so that we’re politely asked to separate by some embarrassed worker who’s unable to meet our eyes.
We burst into fits of laughter as we run for the entrance of the ruins, our clothes and shoes still soggy from the rain. Though I’m tempted to plead with him to take me back to the villa so we can finish what we started, a small (sensible) part of me still realizes we’re in a place we might never see again, and it’s really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’m glad we push through the initial urge to go back to the resort, because the ruins are beautiful.
The walled city was built right on the cliffs of the ocean by the Mayan people, complete with watchtowers and temples. So much of it still stands today, and we curve through the gravel path that leads tourists around the ancient city. We’re even able to walk through a few of the structures. We take photos, especially because we know Natalie and Connor will be curious to see them. Noah stands beside me for a selfie, and I make a cheesy face right before he turns and presses a kiss to my cheek, snapping the photo in time to catch my unabashed delight. I’m embarrassed when we look down at it afterward, everything I feel for him evident on the screen. I want him to delete it. Crop me out. I want to yank the phone out of his hand and toss it off the cliff into the ocean.
He looks at the picture and then over to me.
I start to walk away.
He reaches out to grip my elbow and tugs me back toward his chest.
“You’re into me, aren’t you?” he teases, whispering the words into my ear.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You want me,” he insists, so cocky and arrogant I’m tempted to lift my foot and stomp it back down on top of his just to get him to release me.
But his next words catch me off guard.
“How long have you been suffering?” he asks, his words soft and empathetic. “As long as I have?”
He squeezes my elbow then drops his hand, curving around me so he can keep walking up the path. I’m left staring after him, absorbing his words, fighting back a smile.
Seven
When we return to the hotel, we order lunch down on the beach. We eat fresh ceviche and guacamole and sip on ice-cold palomas as the sun beats down from overhead. I eye the ocean, knowing it’ll feel good once I cave and go in.
I lean back in my chair and glance over at Noah. He hasn’t been shy about eyeing me in my bikini. Even now, his gaze is eating me up from head to toe. I stretch one leg down the chair and prop my elbows over my head, closing my eyes and basking in the feeling of having his attention pinned on me.
His chair creaks, but I keep my eyes closed as I listen to him approach my chair.
He sits on the edge, his swim trunks brushing my thigh. I’m braced for more physical contact—a kiss at the forefront of my mind—but instead, he reaches up with one finger to slowly trace a line down my bikini strap and over my breast. I shiver as goose bumps bloom in his wake.
He follows the material across my chest and up and over my other breast. All the while, I keep my eyes squeezed shut. It feels like a game that will end as soon as I open my eyes.
He drops down to press a kiss to my navel and I immediately inhale sharply, shocked by the feel of his lips on my bare skin. He continues south, his fingers working over my body as his lips follow an invisible line down the center of my abdomen.
He tugs down the top of my bikini bottom and his lips touch my hip bone. A soft moan escapes my lips and his hands dig into my skin.
We aren’t alone on this beach. Yards away, I know other guests from the hotel are out and about. If they walked over in our direction, they’d find us, and that’s likely why Noah doesn’t continue his dangerous pursuit. He emits an impatient groan and then rises up off the chair, taking me with him. I blink my eyes open as he starts dragging me into the water. We splash in the waves and cool off, keeping a few feet of distance between us, hoping to ensure we don’t lose ourselves again. I know there’s no rush, but at the same time, I’m impatient. I’ve wondered for so long what it would feel like to endure a full pursuit from Noah Martin, and having him touch me on that beach chair is conjuring up all sorts of wicked ideas in my head.
Once my fingers have turned into prunes and I’ve successfully cooled off, I walk back onto the beach and flop down on my stomach on my beach chair, grateful for the umbrella that blocks me from the sun. I don’t mean to fall asleep there, but with the warm blanket of heat surrounding me, it’s impossible to stay awake.
I wake up sometime later, slightly disoriented, and turn to glance over my shoulder. Noah is lying on the chair beside me, his eyes closed. A paperback lies face down on his chest, like he rested it there for a moment before falling asleep. I smile and push up to stand, lifting the book from his chest to drop it on the table beside the remnants of our lunch. Instead of waking him, I lie down beside him in the chair, looping a leg over his and tossing an arm across his torso. He stirs enough to shift over and give me a little more room, and then his hand reaches up to grip my arm, as if insisting I stay with him. We fall back asleep together, warm and happy.
I’d forgotten about the couples massage Noah set up until an attendant walks out onto the beach later that afternoon, apologetic about disturbing us. Apparently, while we’ve been out here lounging, they let themselves into our villa to set up for our four PM appointment.
“If you’ll follow me inside, we can get sta
rted.”
Inside the living room, they’ve rearranged some of the furniture so that two massage tables now sit side by side in the center. They’ve lit candles and turned on a soothing playlist of songs that must come pre-loaded on every spa CD across the world.
There’s a man and a woman, one masseuse for each of us.
They introduce themselves as Javier and Gabriella and instruct us in polite masseuse speech to strip down to what we feel comfortable in then lie down under the sheet. They exit the villa to give us privacy, and then Noah and I turn toward one another.
“What do you think they expect?”
Noah tilts his chin toward my room. “If he’s your masseuse, you should probably go put on a couple more layers over your bikini.”
“Ha ha. Be serious. Should I just leave my bottoms on?”
He stares down at said material then wipes a hand down his face. “Why did I plan this massage? It’s going to be complete torture.”
I grin. “It doesn’t have to be. Now turn around so I can undress.”
His dark brows arch with intrigue. “I’d rather not.”
I roll my eyes and turn my back to him, glancing at him over my shoulder as I reach up to untie the bikini strings around my neck. As promised, he doesn’t turn around. He watches with rapt attention as I continue to untie the strings around my back.
The material falls away and I immediately replace it with my hands, covering myself as best as possible.
Unfortunately, there’s no way for me to lift the sheet and climb under with my hands where they are.
“Help me?” I plead.
He smiles and shakes his head.
I narrow my eyes, suddenly wanting to push him the way he’s pushing me. On a wild whim, I drop my hands and turn confidently to lift the sheet off the table. Sure, I’m blushing, but I doubt he’s noticing that.
I don’t look at him as I climb up and tug the sheet higher to cover myself. Only when my chest is concealed underneath the soft white linen do I tilt my head and take him in.
He looks absolutely drugged, standing there watching me. There’s an obvious bulge in his swim trunks that I’m mighty proud of.
“Your turn.”
He laughs and shakes his head, turning to disappear into his room. When he returns a moment later, he’s wearing boxer briefs instead of his swim trunks. The rest of him is beautifully tan and toned. I don’t hide my obvious perusal of him as he walks toward me.
He’s supposed to climb up onto his own table now.
Javier and Gabriella will be coming back inside at any moment, but instead of complying with their request, he rounds my table and comes to stand directly beside me. He stares down at me for a moment as I take him in, then he leans over and plants a kiss on my lips, letting his hands drift down to the sheet covering my breasts. He feels me through the material as our kiss deepens. I arch up, filling his hand, wanting him to feel more of me, and he obliges happily. His hands move up and then gently tug the sheet down inch by slow inch so that cool air covers my chest, making me shiver. His palms warm me up, though, teasing me until I’m a squirming mess on that table, antsy for more. His tongue touches mine and I reach up to grip his neck and keep him leaning over me. I love the way his hands feel on me. I love how sexy I feel, how much he’s responding to me right now.
I have no doubt we’d continue this game if there were no knock on that door.
“Are you both ready?” Gabriella asks from the other side.
I reluctantly break our kiss, sending a private smile up to Noah as he forces himself to straighten. I don’t immediately cover myself, so for a moment, I’m lying topless on that table underneath him.
He looks down at me and then reaches out quickly, tracing my breast as if he just can’t help himself.
The villa’s doorknob jiggles and I swat his hand away so I can quickly yank the sheet back up to my neck.
He laughs and reluctantly moves back to his table like a good boy, lying down and covering himself.
“Torture,” he says, right before Gabriella and Javier walk back inside.
Eight
Noah was right.
A couples massage is basically the equivalent of an hour-long foreplay session where you’re left wondering just how much touch the human body can endure without splintering into a million pieces.
I try not to look at Noah while Javier works his hands over my legs. The massage oil is not helping matters either.
I turn my head and keep my attention on the opposite wall. But then, Javier forces me to change positions, and I have no choice but to look at Noah—or more importantly, look at Gabriella touching Noah.
His eyes are closed as he lies on his back. She moves her hands down his arms, digging the heels of her palms into his muscles. No doubt he’s enjoying this after his workout earlier.
I am not enjoying this.
I’m a live wire.
Javier tells me I have tension in my shoulders and I’m like, NO SHIT SHERLOCK.
“Try to relax.”
Impossible.
I catch a subtle lift of Noah’s smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. Apparently, he enjoys how uncomfortable I am right now.
I try to relax, running through whimsical scenarios in my mind: a fawn in the woods, butterflies dancing in a meadow, a kitten playing with yarn, NOAH’S HANDS BETWEEN MY LEGS.
“Um, can I go to the bathroom really quick?” I ask Javier, embarrassed by how high-pitched and squeaky my voice sounds.
“Of course.”
He holds up a robe for me to don while he turns his back and I rush out of the room like my feet are on fire. In my bedroom, I feel better. I like that there’s a door between them and me.
I look in the mirror in the bathroom and blink at my appearance. My hair has dried into beachy waves. My face has new color from my time out in the sun. My skin is flushed and supple, covered in massage oil.
I turn on the tap, cup my hands under the faucet, and then dab some cold water onto my face. It helps, so I do it again.
When I turn off the water and pat my face dry, I realize I’ll have to return to the living room now. I can’t just abandon my massage halfway through.
Even so, I take my time, pacing in my room, trying to calm myself down.
Noah and I just need to have sex. That would help calm me down.
It occurs to me that I could put my own hand between my legs, but I can’t do it while three people hover one room away. It feels wrong.
I pinch my eyes closed, heave a heavy sigh at the door of my bedroom, and force myself to walk back out into the living room.
Javier and Gabriella are gone, but their massage tables are still in the center of the space. Noah stands beside one, waiting for me.
I frown and glance toward the front door, wondering if they just stepped outside to give me some privacy while I rearrange myself under the sheet again.
“I dismissed them,” Noah says, nodding for me to come closer.
“Why? Didn’t we have another thirty minutes?”
“I thought I’d finish your massage myself,” he says, reaching out to grab the two ends of the bow keeping my robe closed once I reach him. He tugs on them gently and the robe starts to slip off me. I reach to pinch it closed over my chest, leaning toward him. I like knowing I wasn’t the only one suffering before.
He was going just as crazy as me.
“Pity. I was actually enjoying Javier.” I’m testing him.
His gaze dares me to keep lying as he tugs my hands free and removes the robe for me. It pools at my feet and then he grips my waist to lift me up and onto the massage table behind me.
“Lie back,” he says, coming to stand where Javier was only a few minutes ago.
He doesn’t bother covering me with the sheet. Instead, he pushes it to the ground and arranges my hands flat by my sides.
Everything in me wants to cover myself. I’m too exposed up here, but he’s already reaching for the massage oil and dribbling a lit
tle of it onto my stomach, working it up higher on my chest. I lie perfectly still, wondering how far he’s going to take this. He starts to slowly rub the oil into my skin over my stomach and chest. Then higher. I hold my breath as he sweeps the silky oil over the outside of my breasts, then down, in the valley between them.
I’m slick under his hands as I take my lip between my teeth and fight the urge to close my eyes.
I’m slightly embarrassed about what we’re doing. I want to squirm and shy away from his touch, but then I remind myself that we aren’t doing anything wrong. We both want this. Badly.
His exploring takes his hands back down my stomach and over my thighs. He adds more oil to my legs, working it into my calves and feet. Then he slides his palms back up, letting his fingers dip dangerously close to the center of my thighs. I want him to touch me there, but he doesn’t, continuing to massage everywhere but there.
On his third sweep up my legs, his fingers graze the ties on my bikini bottom, loosening them a smidge. The material starts to slip off my hips, but it’s not enough to uncover me completely.
I whisper a plea, and his dark eyes glide up to mine.
He likes what he’s doing to me, likes the way I’m reacting to his touch. He cups my breasts and then leans down to kiss one of them. I arch up to give him better access. He obliges, but not for nearly as long as I’d like.
Then he’s back at it, massaging me like it’s his job, working my body into a pool of lust with every inch of my skin hypersensitized.
I part my thighs a little, trying to show him what I want, and he likes that. He smooths his hands so they flatten on my thighs and then he spreads them more. My bikini bottoms sit askew and I’m slightly bared for him. He moves down the table so he’s in line with my hips and then he reaches between my thighs and pushes his fingers beneath the material, gently feeling me for the first time.
My eyes close as he slides his fingers up and down. They’re slick with oil and me and it’s so easy for him to guide his middle finger inside me, to stretch me as I lie dutifully on that table for him.